SlavesofMistressDespoiler (4 page)

A long deteriorating relationship seemed to have eroded all self-esteem before its final collapse. Numerous crutches were the only things supporting her now and her light had been dimmed to the verge of extinction.

Now there was a new chapter between them, one outside all parameters of friendship and beyond. One they were about to explore. He felt shameful, and wanted to crawl away, but the hold of Mistress Despoiler to his neck kept him still as she savoured his confusion and the sight of him in turmoil at this trick she had played.

The tall and slender body of the new arrival seemed all the more imposing and magnificent now that it had been adorned with a gloss dress. It had been a freebie for filling in as sales staff at a fetish store in the city and he had always found her highly alluring when she wore it. The hem of the vinyl sheath just cleared the tips of her moulded thigh boots, offering a tantalising wink of pale upper thigh. It teased the eye because if she bent over fully, or if she just moved a certain way, one might gain a precious glimpse of underwear. The boots had been made to measure and flowed along every contour of her long limbs to end in a wicked heel, the height of them augmented and eased by a slight platform. Her slim arms were sealed within the tube of Lycra opera gloves and the fingers rose to fierce tips as her pointed nails jutted out like talons to fight the fabric that entombed them.

Her long black hair hung about her angular features with a streak of shocking pink thrown in on one side. Her eyes were rimmed with dark shades and a curling design spilled from one corner. Her eyebrows were drawn to pointed arcs and her lips were dark to make her expression graver. The sight of her attired in such a manner made him cringe. She indeed made quite a striking apparition of female dominance.

On occasion, when affected by alcohol, they had talked of how they might structure a scenario. Neither had thought that such plans would ever include the other at some point.

He did not believe in limits, safe words, or boundaries. He said he would not impose rules and regulations on a Mistress. He had kept the fact that he was already engaged in such matters from her, offering that his counsel was based more on past experience.

He had tried to convey in as least crass terms as possible that she should be truly free to act as she wished. She had seemed intent on keeping an air of lightness to such encounters, as though afraid to immerse too deeply in a role that she might not be able to get out of again should it prove too captivating.

He had spoken like this so that she could experience any encounter she found in full, to enjoy the role she wished, and not be stalled or turned from acts that she might want to perform because of who her subject was. The theoretical slave had never once been thought of as himself. It was anonymous advice, and now he was torn between giving himself a hearty pat on the back because someone had actually followed his recommendation, and feeling fear at what she might do now that he himself had petitioned a scenario where all limits were waived.

Would she wilt from use of dildo, or genital torture for fear of it translating into a sexual act between them? In some ways, it could be, but that was not how it was. It was to be more like a little dark improvised play. When actors kissed, they were not expressing any love, they were not consequently betrothed, but rather they were fulfilling their part. Therefore, the full use of the slave by the dominant could be exploited without compunction for decency. Only intercourse or other fully sexual scenes could be construed as a transgression against it.

With Mistress Despoiler it was different. He was in love with her, not only as her striking and wondrous other self but as the individual she was at heart.

They had been besotted with each other for a lengthy time before this wicked side to their natures escaped, and they had not been able to turn back since. For them, it was a relationship permitting all that they wanted, their sex life heightened and carried to new and dizzying highs with the use of their roles to supplement it.

“Well? Kiss the boots of my assistant, slave,” hissed Mistress Despoiler.

She used her hold to push him forward, and her glee at his quailing from this acute embarrassment served to broaden the smile on her face.

Timid, the new Mistress moved one of the burnished stems of patent leather a little forward as an indication.

A tow with the collar had him scampering over on his knees to slavishly adore the footwear. Running his tongue across the smooth panes, he savoured the feel of being subjugated by his owner.

Lingering on the heel, he let his tongue coil around the thin dagger. The delight he took in his work was now at a fever pitch.

His lips trekked across ankle and shin, leaving saliva that his tongue lapped at, spread, and then flicked to polish the divine material. Fields of condensation misted it as his breath rasped outward and then the fogged plumes quickly faded to reveal shimmering black skin.

The feel of the plastic cone within him as he worked accentuated his conformity and it made him feel more the part. The toy had an aura of slavery to it, beguiling the wearer, rendering them weak and pliant to the will of a domineering beauty, their owned body held open and controlled by another.

“That’s it, slave,” encouraged his alluring tyrant while she continued to monitor his work from above.

The control over him stirred his arousal. The Mistress might well punish this result as a sign of wavering fealty, especially if it was construed as an answer to the assistant’s vinyl-sheltered physique.

“That’s enough,” she stated, and the cane flashed down to impart a hot weal on his wiggling rump.

The pain stormed within the soft flesh and he scuttled back while nursing the welt. In a ball, he held himself tight, waiting for the results of the weapon to retreat as his eyes blurred from influxes of tears.

Mistress Lynn lolled against the wall, a hand on her flank, her eyes sparkling. She brushed her hair back with gloved fingers to restore the single streak of pink that poured along with her long sable tresses.

Mistress Despoiler slithered forward, the latex stretching and undulating across each stride. The tautening of opaque panes charmed his previously deprived eyes until she moved behind him, whereupon she crouched so she could fill his ear with her words.

“Would you like to masturbate before us, slave?” she asked while freeing his aching arms from their captivity.

“No, Mistress Despoiler,” he replied solemnly.

He rubbed his joints to encourage the sensation to return. The thought of surveyed masturbation frightened him. It was hard enough to do it in front of Mistress Despoiler, but to be exposed with a friend in the room!

A yelp of pain spilled from his throat as the cane swept into him. He forsook the consolation of his numbed elbows and clutched the pounding line.

“Do it!” she barked, breaking the defiance with skill. He could not resist such powerful authority, not from her.

With a trembling hand, he reached into the front of his briefs and drew forth an already erect member. His head was held low and his eyes were kept down as his ponytail hung over his shoulder.

“So, you mewl
no Mistress
, and look at you! Throbbing with lust like the little pervert you are,” berated Mistress Despoiler and withdrew until she was situated before him. Mistress Lynn was still behind her, watching with interest.

“I say that warrants punishment, don’t you Mistress Lynn?” she added, drawing her assistant back into the scenario.

“Yes. Yes it does,” she replied and admonished him with a mocking scowl.

“Put some clamps on the nipples of this lying little slave,” she purred and then indicated where the examples of such instruments resided via a gentle wave of her digits.

With a sauntering stride, Mistress Lynn approached and looked over the articles. Her eye selected clover clamps through familiarity rather than purpose and he groaned inwardly at the choice, for she had picked the ones he found most stressful to endure.

Still holding his shaft, he tried to avoid her eyes as she leaned in and opened the two padded jaws of the crushing tools. Each morsel of flesh was placed into the shadow of their vice-like hold and then captured. They were compressed with a ferocity that made him stiffen and gasp, his chest rising and falling to make the chains jingle. She seemed shocked for a moment and then banished such remorse. Lynn let it reform and emerge as a wide grin of delectation.

A brief playful tug at the connecting chain made him wince, and with the murmur of her dress stretching she backed away, leaving him to regard his true Mistress. He was weighing up whether or not he could do this, but he had to, for her.

He took firmer hold of his stiff length. The flesh was like the needle of a gauge, upright, and reading a boiling libido. He slowly began to shuffle his fist back and forth while he was devoured by the shame of exposure.

“Look at us as you do that, Porcupine,” hissed his owner. The ragged spikes of his hair now fulfilled the name instead of the armaments of his hood.

It took effort to lift his face and regard the spectators. To acknowledge their presence was no easy feat.

The two women were stood before him, poised against the wall, swimming in the enjoyment of their power over him. They were deities of rubber and vinyl and he was completely devoted to their doctrine. As a fanatic parishioner, he was ready to fulfil any radical commandment they issued.

The pleasure rising in his shaft was growing more intense. The cloudy haze of rising climax was forcing back the gnawing frustration. It did not make him more amiable to the job, just heedless of its ravages.

The task was further drawn out as the pounding beat of the clamps started to increase in depth. The pincers pushed everything save a keening stamp from the captured buds and were stashing a store of pain that they would unleash as a broadside when they were removed. The longer they stayed, the deeper the pain grew, and the more savage would be the extraction.

He wanted to solicit their removal, but knew from experience that Mistress Despoiler would only ensure she left them on longer should he bemoan their presence.

“I think you should worship my skirt while you do that, slave,” announced Mistress Despoiler.

“And Mistress Lynn, a taste of the cane will keep his lust subdued. After all, we don’t want him ending prematurely because of his lack of self-control.”

With a nod and a sudden perky smirk, Lynn walked to the wall. Her steps had already changed from hesitant and cautious, of someone not sure whether they should be here, to someone at ease with this position. The mere act of him humbling himself before them, of performing such a binding taboo at their mere command had given her conviction and it was snowballing rapidly.

Her hands closed about the deserted cane. She lifted it from a hook, clenched it in her grip, and savoured the feel of the instrument. The aura of power it seemed to lend the wielder spread quickly, and as though having drawn Excalibur from the stone, she marched back. The weapon was now content in her hands and all doubt was gone.

Mistress Despoiler moved to his front and looked down with her piercing glower. Her eyes twinkled with adopted malevolence and setting her legs apart, the slim sheath was suddenly taut. The skirt stretched along her legs, revealing the elegant contours as the latex held tight to her form.

A toe moved to him and he draped down and put his lips to her boots so that he might drink deeply of the wonderful scent. Placing a single kiss to each, he began moving up, letting his tongue slide upon the material, his palate being burned by the potent tang of rubber that was like nectar to his deviant tendencies.

With such encouragement, the tide of his climax thundered forth and filled his genitals with a fuzzy heat. His head was dizzy with desire to finish and the clamps were a negligible hindrance to his toil.

There was the soft humming whine of the cane upon a capricious flick. He heard it even over the sound of his panting breath and slobbering attendance. A lucid streak crossed his rear and with a choking gasp, he arched slightly and then fell back into a ball. His tongue slipped back in as he gritted his teeth, his face now screwed up into a mask of endurance.

The fierce havoc dribbled lethargically away. The cane imparted an effect of no small brutality or longevity. Before the life span of this pulsating pain had elapsed, another stroke descended to extend his frozen state. The accrued misery was rising with each hack. The gaps between her blows were brief and this kept him dedicated to holding onto his meagre fortitude.

Whimpering with the steady beat, he started to buck and flinch. The dance under the shadow and kiss of the weapon caused Mistress Lynn to follow the example of Mistress Despoiler and place one of her booted feet into his back. When the heel pushed in, he was forced lower and made to concentrate his efforts to the feet of Mistress Despoiler. The assistant was intent on denying him any higher elevation while she ravaged with the weapon.

A full six were delivered as she kept him pinned down with this slender dagger and his every struggle made it dig into him. The heavy toll of the pain effectively extinguished his lust and his member grew flaccid in his grasp.

The attack stopped and let him begin afresh. Mistress Lynn must have seen how she was stalling him completely rather than the providing the designated process of delay.